


Want (your mind won't let you say that you're)

by leocantus



Category: Star Ocean: The Last Hope
Genre: M/M, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-15
Updated: 2013-12-15
Packaged: 2018-01-04 17:37:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1083782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leocantus/pseuds/leocantus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Crowe likes to keep a points chart for when he can get Arumat to be a little less than perfect. </p>
<p>Sad thing is that somehow he thinks that he's losing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Want (your mind won't let you say that you're)

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompt 'Ears'.

"What do you want?"

Though Arumat's ear twitches away reflexively long before Crowe's fingertips can even brush against it, he doesn't bother to turn away from where he has his scythe laid open, blade flickering as he tinkers with its power generator.

"Nothing," Crowe says, trying for innocent, and he presses a kiss to the corner of Arumat's unresponsive mouth. They know each other too well though, and Arumat flicks his hand away when he reaches for Arumat's ears once more.

"Then go do it somewhere else." The tone is bland, the words calm and dismissive, but Crowe can hear the tightness in his voice, and that means Arumat is slowly losing his patience. Crowe grins and leans forward, one hand creeping forward as a decoy so he can sweep his tongue along the curve of an ear. The reaction is instantaneous and Arumat actually jerks his head away this time, finally ( _finally_. Crowe: 1, Arumat: 0) turning his distinctly unimpressed expression on Crowe, his fingers tightening dangerously on his wave amplifier.

"Why are you here?" Crowe laughs at Arumat's long-suffering tone, shrugs, and rests his chin on the shoulder in front of him, hands sliding across Arumat's chest to trace idly over the scars, to drag nails over his nipples, to tease at the waistband of his pants. Arumat grunts, a show of annoyance, and returns to his work, but Crowe knows his body, and he knows Arumat isn't as unaffected as he'd like to be.

"What's with the ears?" he asks instead of replying, using Arumat's distraction to curl his tongue over an eartip, and Arumat's whole body jerks this time, the sharp, sudden intake of breath as telling as the way his eyes threaten to flutter shut, and for one curious second, Crowe is the only thing keeping him upright, but he resolutely turns back to his scythe, hands unsteady as he picks up his wave amplifier once more. His muscles are tense underneath Crowe's hand, as though he can ignore the maddening touches through sheer force of will, or rather, if he stops thinking about it he'll be helpless, easy, pliable under Crowe’s touches. 

Crowe's lips drift away from his ears, trailing a line of fire down to his neck to suck livid marks against pale skin, and though Arumat is unmoving, his gaze focussed on the frayed wires in front of him, his breath hitches slightly as he says, "They are not for you to touch."

Crowe wonders briefly if he's committing some sort of massive Eldarian no-no. It's so easy to forget sometimes, so easy to forget that he and Arumat are not the same – Eldarians and Earthlings share as many similarities as they do differences – but then occasionally Arumat will do something or say something, and Crowe is reminded vividly that this man is not of his world. 

Crowe tongue darts out to wet his lips, his eyes tracing over the shape of Arumat's ears, and he thinks that that is something he's okay with. His grin is a slow stretch of understanding across his lips and as he reaches forward to ease the wave amplifier out of Arumat's surprisingly unresisting hold and move his scythe to the side, Crowe thinks to himself that Arumat never stood a chance. 

He catches an earlobe in his teeth and tugs on it a bit before sucking the small bit of flesh into his mouth, and Arumat gives a full body shudder against Crowe, his head lolling back against Crowe's shoulder as though he's forgotten how to keep it upright. His hands are pushing against his thighs, fingers digging in hard as though he needs the pain to keep him centred, to keep him from coming apart, and Crowe feels his pleasure as sweetly as if it is his own. Arumat is gone; teeth sunk into his bottom lip, skin hot and flush, and Crowe bites down again just watch Arumat lose himself even further. He has his hands splayed on Arumat's chest, holding him flush against his front as his cheek rubs against his hair, nudging aside a few strands, before he parts his lips to suck on the delicate ridges of his ear. Arumat makes another faint noise of pleasure, caught at the back of his throat like he's still trying to fight it, but Crowe knows he's won when hands come up to grip tightly onto his forearms, when Arumat’s focus finally shifts towards him.

"I should have known that this is what you were here for."

Crowe's laugh is dirty as he slides from his position behind Arumat around into his lap, shaking his hands free of Arumat's grip. "You make it sound like you don't want it too." He dips his head for a kiss and Arumat tilts his head slightly to meet him, licking and biting at his lips before working his way inside. The kiss is hungry on both sides, an aggressive meeting of lips and tongue and teeth that is as much a competition as it is a demand for more and his hand slides up Crowe’s back to fist in his hair, keeping him there so he can get his fill of his mouth until both their lips are wet and bruised.

Crowe's eyes are greedy as he leans in for another, licking his own lips, and then Arumat's, only to be brought up short by a hand on his chest. The corner of Arumat's lips quirks upwards and he raises an eyebrow in a way that says "Work for it. Make me want it," and the mischief that curls at the edges of Crowe's grin is all the "Mission accepted," they'll ever need. 

Arumat sits back, resting his weight on his hands, and tilts his head back with a snort, eyes setting the challenge. Crowe bites at his jaw, teeth scoring along the line of it as his hands make quick work of Arumat's pants. Then it's a simple matter of reaching inside to draw out his cock, lips returning to his neck as he swipes a thumb over the head, feeling Arumat's rough sound of pure want vibrate under his lips as he dips his fingers in the precome leaking from the slit. He doesn't waste any more time in teasing, and instead fists his cock tightly and jerks him off with rough, unforgiving strokes. Arumat's arms tremble slightly where they're supporting his weight, and Crowe finally takes his mouth, leaning in for the kiss he was denied. 

It only takes Crowe's teeth tugging on an earlobe to tip him over the edge, arms finally giving out beneath him as he comes hot and messy all over Crowe's hands. Crowe grins down at him, triumphant, as he bring his hands to his mouth and sucks his fingers clean one at a time in a slow, wet slide from his mouth.

Eventually, Arumat's harsh breathing evens out and his eyes flutter open, heated and intense as they stare up at Crowe. He has no time to react before Arumat pushes him off, slamming him back onto the ground with breathtaking strength and holding him there with one hand pressed against his chest while the other fumbles at his waistband, and really, Crowe shouldn't be finding this as hot as he does, but there's something about Arumat carelessly overpowering him that gets to him faster than anything else. Arumat has his pants open and his cock in his hand in no time at all, smearing come across the head and along the length in his haste to get it out, not that Crowe is complaining. Or at least he would be not complaining if he had the presence of mind to do anything except arch his back and make these embarrassing little fuckme noises in the back of his throat. He moves restlessly under Arumat's hands, pinned effortlessly in place at the chest and the hips as Arumat ducks his head and parts his lips, and Crowe finds himself trying desperately to thrust deeper into that hot mouth. 

Arumat takes his time, methodical, like he wants to savour it, and Crowe thinks that it's probably payback for everything he’d ever done to annoy Arumat which— yeah, is fair enough, but he is _aching_ for it now, Arumat's insistent mouth and hungry tongue leaving him babbling a mixture of pleas and threats and tugging uselessly at Arumat's hair. 

The pleasure builds slowly, the heat knotting tighter and tighter inside him so much that it feels like a relief when he finally comes, like the unclenching of a long used muscle or the tension and release of a good fight, and the warmth that seeps throughout his body, that makes everything bright and hazy leaves him heavy-limbed and punch-drunk and blind to everything else. Arumat's mouth slides off him gradually, catching every stray drop of come with his tongue, and there's something satisfied in the set of his mouth and the quirk of his eyebrow when Crowe works up the energy to look up at him.

He's expecting another kiss, maybe a suggestion for round two, but he can only watch as Arumat then sits back up, tucks himself back into his pants, grabs his wave amplifier and his scythe, and, with a smug slant to his smile, goes back to work.

Crowe shuts his eyes sighs. Looks like he loses. Again.


End file.
